


Xenogenous

by recrudescence



Category: Glee RPS
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-08
Updated: 2010-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 00:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recrudescence/pseuds/recrudescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And despite Glee's efforts at all-inclusiveness, Chris once confided to Cory that it still left him with the impression that it's okay to be gay as long as you're innocuously fruity and not actually doing anything objectionable, like sleeping with your heartthrob costar and dashing the hopes of teenage girls around the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Xenogenous

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt from the Glee Kink Meme: _They barely have two days between the last night of the tour and Cory leaving for Budapest, I want really really fucking raw emotional h/c sex where Chris is exhausted and overwhelmed and teetering on the edge of a breaking point and Cory was going insane not being able to even just comfort him all tour (much less touch him, because they decided to play it safe with all those people around)._ So yeah, here be schmoop.
> 
> If this ever actually happened, I would be really perturbed. If any Glee cast members happen upon this and read it, I'm really sorry. Think of it as historical fiction without the history.

  
They've been good. Careful, discreet, nothing unfit for an audience's eyes, and even though Cory really wants to drag Chris into his arms and kiss him every time he flashes that big goofy grin, he doesn't. Because their lives are hectic enough and it's so much easier to keep this commingled portion of both of theirs under lock and key.

Emotions are running higher than ever at the tail-end of the tour. Chris, already a little more vulnerable than the others thanks to his sheer newness to their world, is treating it like the end of an era. Hanging onto Heather and Amber as if he's trying to store up enough hugs to carry him through the summer. Swearing to hunt people down and stab them with his sais if they don't email or call or tweet, even with atrocious grammar. Coaxing Cory to come back to his room.

Soft kisses against his throat and that even softer voice running a mile a minute: just this once, no one would notice, just wanted to steal some time alone with him. The entire time he said it he'd been holding onto Cory like he was holding on for dear life.

It's nighttime when Cory taps on the door. "'s open," comes Chris's voice from inside, sounding muffled, and Cory steps in, turning the lock after him. Taking these extra little precautions is sadly second nature by now. That and Kevin has been known to burst in on people unannounced and, as cool as Kevin is, he'd rather that not happen.

Chris is sprawled on the bed, clad in pajama pants and a threadbare t-shirt, clearly exhausted. It reminds Cory of all the packing he still has to start. As accustomed as he's become to it, they won't be touring much longer and he really needs to get his ass in gear. Even as he watches, Chris seems to slump a little more into the mattress, as if he's drowsing off already.

He doesn't think twice about toeing out of his shoes and spooning up behind him. It feels easy and natural and just plain wonderful, pressing his nose to Chris's nape and breathing in deeply as he slides one arm around his middle. "Hi there. Long day?"

That's when Cory realizes Chris isn't just half-asleep.

And he's seen him cry before, overcome with emotion at his birthday or onstage or just from having a supportive group of friends for once in his life, but this time there's nothing happy about the tears. Chris is gritting his teeth and hunching his shoulders like it hurts him.

"Hey..." His voice drops into a whisper, fingers cautiously urging that damp-streaked face to look at him. It takes a moment, as Chris hisses in a ragged breath and tries to stay facing the other way. "What's the matter?"

It only takes the space of a hand through that cowlicked hair before Chris is turning and clinging to him, hot mouth opening against Cory's, tongue anxiously pressing inside, slick and desperate and messy. Salt-wet patches smearing coolly against Cory's skin when Chris ducks his face against the side of his neck. All Cory can do is rub slow, smooth circles along the tensed bow of his back. "Don't...Chris, _don't_\--'s okay, whatever it is, it's okay, I promise." Pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, clean-scented hair brushing at his nose and at his heartstrings. "Talk to me?"

Chris's words are so hushed and hurried it's almost as if he can't bring himself to force them out at all. "I'm gonna miss you so much. And I'm sorry, I know this is really needy or whatever—" and that's all Cory needs to hear before he's kissing him again, petting and shushing and scrambling for every reassurance he can. _No, no, don't cry over that. Not over that_. Chris just holds on tighter.

This is one of those times where Cory is grateful not to be as awful with words as his character. He can't be sure the blathering he's doing is much better, but it's not _nothing_. Chris deserves more than nothing. "It's gonna be all right, just smile for me, gonna see you again soon. You _know _that. It's just for a little while, then everyone's gonna be together again." Chris is still so untried and wide-eyed in some ways. Never had a real boyfriend, not used to the double standard of getting to touch and having to hide it away.

And Chris's mouth is warm and parted at the base of his throat, face still obscured but every breath wet and shaky. Cory's knuckles under the roundness of his chin, tipping it up enough for him to thumb underneath each half-closed eye in turn."You'll get to go home and be with your family. You want that, right?"

One hand snarls itself in the back of Cory's shirt. "I can't want you, too?" Fuck. _Chris._

"Listen to me." And there is he, in Chris's hotel-room bed, curling them together, trying to make him listen without speaking another syllable.

Stroking and soothing him until he eases up enough for Cory to guide him onto his back and take his face in his hands and calmly kiss him on the forehead, cheeks, lips. Tracing the peak of a hipbone through worn-to-maximum-comfort cloth, and good _Lord_, Cory doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing his name uttered the way Chris does it when he's pink-faced and pushing his body up off the bed.

It's been a strain, all the traveling and rehearsing and being away from home and having a relationship that needs to remain private when so much of their lives are spent in the public eye. Chris has grown up a lot since they first met, but he still has a ways to go. Writhing up into Cory's mouth as it relearns the dips and ridges of his collarbone, crying and pleading for more and harder and _loveyou_—ohfuckohgoddamnit_Chris_—before he drags Cory's shirt over his head. Lovely warm-damp lips on his own, nudge of his nose against Cory's cheek, jaw, arms threading around him. All that perfect heat surging against him, and Chris's voice is reedy but insistent, asking to be _touched_.

He obliges, slipping hands beneath Chris's waistband, ushering the shirt up and off, kissing skin as he bares it and hearing Chris moan quietly. "You can't just go, you can't just leave me." Almost _sobbing_ out his name. Christ, he's so fucking _young_. Just turned twenty. Cory should be setting a better example for him. "I don't want you to _leave_."

"I'm not leaving you," and his voice laps over the arc of Chris's shoulder a bare beat ahead of his tongue. Talking with touch; he can do that. Nudging up along the crest of an ear, fingers kneading just under the fine, sweat-dark little hairs at his nape. Palming the hard line of his erection, folding his hand around it, and Chris's hips buck forward as he slides those pajama bottoms low enough to draw him out and _grip_. "Never do that to you, baby, not like that."

He tells himself that if Chris had wanted them to come out to their friends, he would have. He also tells himself that Chris sometimes defers to him because he's older and more experienced and maybe there are things that Chris wants but isn't pursuing because he assumes Cory's in the right. Coming out to the public, though, would never fly—publicists like the fans to infer they're all a bunch of happy-go-lucky friends, slates kept good and clean for the projecting of the masses.

And despite Glee's efforts at all-inclusiveness, Chris once confided to Cory that it still left him with the impression that it's okay to be gay as long as you're innocuously fruity and not actually doing anything objectionable, like sleeping with your heartthrob costar and dashing the hopes of teenage girls around the world.

Cory jokingly took him to task for use of the word heartthrob, but it really did ring true.

Everything is still so unchecked and raw for him; when Cory kisses him, when Cory put his hands on him, it's like Chris falls blissfully apart every time and nothing in the world matters but Cory. Whether it's Cory's fingers slipping inside him or Cory's mouth closing over his cock or the two of them entwined and sweat-sheened in a hotel room bought and paid for on Fox's tab. Cory moves, hard against him and rock-rubbing, light but firm little pushes of his hips against Chris's smaller body. Chris, who's looking over his shoulder with the tiniest hint of a smile, seeming somehow innocent and debauched at the same time, making Cory want to pinch his cheeks and push back his bangs and then fuck him utterly falling-down _senseless_.

Holding him as close as he can and letting him get it all out, be as noisy as he likes, choked-off little cries and groans increasing as he _grinds_ back against him, fingernails digging into the back of Cory's hand where it's still slowly, deliberately working over him. Cory doesn't mind, and it claws at his heart that he's probably coming off as an absolute asshole for convincing Chris they really should keep this under wraps. He shouldn't have. Not with Chris's head falling back against his shoulder and so many words falling out of his mouth, almost too unintelligible for Cory to hear. But not quite. Mingled with so many hot-hitching breaths, too tremulous on all the vowels, but not indecipherable: "Want you so much, want all of you, hardly got you to myself at all this whole time and I'm sorry I suck at playing it cool but I'm really not okay with everything ending so soon, _please_." This, while he's curling fingers around him and sucking at that spot on his neck and guiding Chris to let himself _go_.

Not long. Not at all. Tight-drawn and breathless and shaking in his arms, lithe and gasping and choking out apologies even with come spattering his stomach and the scent of sex heavy in the room. And again, Chris is _clutching_ him even though it's too hot. "_It's okay_." Cory murmurs it into the curve of Chris's ear more times than he can count. He doesn't know who he's speaking to anymore.

It takes a little time, but eventually Chris is accommodating about Cory having him lie back and let himself be taken care of. Packing for Budapest can't take _that_ long, and Cory's positive it won't be as riveting as drawing a washcloth over Chris while he's stretched out like this, naked and pliant and pale. Even if he squawks and tries to snatch it out of Cory's hand because he's ticklish. That just makes Cory smirk and take his time, just in case he can make Chris laugh again, and then take an even longer time stepping out of his pants when he's done.

"Will you sleep with me?" They've only done that on a few occasions, keeping the incidents sporadic at Cory's behest, and it all seems so absurdly histrionic now. Especially with Chris's eyes sliding shut like he expects him to say no.

Chris's arms back around him, Chris's head settling on his chest, Cory's hand resting in the small of his back. Easy as anything, and he's nothing but sincere when he kisses that mouth one more time. "As long as you want."


End file.
